Court Day in BookThree: Flight Log 2016

Slept in today; because depression wants sleep. Still a bit jealous of the wife… she gets to sleep in as late as she wants to most days. Bah.

Court Day… promises to be… empty. Another day where there is nothing on the schedule. However, over the evening… I was absolutely FLOODED with e-mails. So we’ll see what’s going on. Either I’ve missed a bunch of things because I still don’t know what I’m doing (likely); something big happened and Boss wants to make it my problem (likely); or a third option.

Then after 4 hours of court....

bah! Tired. Sleepy. Need food. Need sleep. Can’t even function. Blah.

Court was mostly cleaning up after defendants that decided “recidivism” is a goal, not a watchword. What I most want to do right now would be to go home. Maybe take a nap, maybe eat some food, maybe down a giant soda. Something. Because I am done with work. Which sucks giant dangerously-oversized novelty donkey balls. I have an idea that can help me at work… and like most ideas that can help me at work this one will take some extra time to execute. So… I go home now and recuperate and have to have to HAVE TO come in early tomorrow and Friday.... or.... I stay and try and do work here.

Saved by the fuck up! Just got a call from the jail. Paperwork they gave me that I gave to my boss had a patient’s Rx information that the jail needs. So I have to hunt for my boss (because she doesn’t use a cell phone… yeah… in THIS day and age as an ATTORNEY)… so that answers my what to do question. But of course, it means I will have to get in early on Thursday and Friday to accomplish what I want to get done.

Now here’s where things get… bad. And prove that I’m experiencing a depression, not simply a “bad time.” The word Mauk-to’Vor has been rattling around in my head all day. It is, in essence, a Klingon Suicide Ritual meant to restore or return honor to the one who wishes to die. Suicide is dishonorable. But being killed, especially in a ceremony of note, is honorable. And that has been going around in my head. Mauk-to’Vor. A cowardly notion as I dearly look forward to things like spending time with friends and family. But a notion that circles in my head all the same as this situation… whether it is the place, or the job, or both… seems to be devouring my resolve.

Speaking of devouring my resolve… allow me to share with you something today that… just increases that conflicted feeling of “mad as hell” with “depressed as shit.”
There is a woman with a long history of drug abuse… a phrase that likely describes many people around here. There was an arrest warrant out for her as she had not come to several court hearings. Before the officers could arrest her; she tried to commit suicide. She was discovered and taken to a hospital… not the hospital in this county (of course) but in a different county. Because apparently… not only does the county NOT do emergency work (sending people 2 hours away) but they don’t do psych work (sending people 1 hour away). So, they take this suicidal drug addict to a hospital an hour away… then bring her back today for her court appearance. AND I am told… the jail is full (6 people, shit you not)… so she can’t stay in jail no matter what. If she does have to be in jail; she would have to be housed in the County Jail of our neighboring County (30 minute drive) and then our sheriff’s office would have to drive her to her psych appointments (1 hour from us, 90 minutes from Other County Jail)… and the Sheriff’s Office doesn’t want to spend that kind of time, nor does the County want to spend that kind of money. SO… you’re telling me… because our jail only holds SIX people… and because it is “too expensive”… that we should release a suicidal drug addict back into the world? FUCK THIS PLACE!

And it makes me think one of my LEAST favorite thoughts… that thought is.... what if my dad was right? Dad always wanted me to be a pastor… after my diagnosis, that became unlikely. I told him that I went into law because it was like being a pastor but less emotional and more mental. Dad was worried that being a prosecutor would involve too much of that emotion… seeing the vulnerable and victimized and all that. I told him that it wouldn’t have to be like that. As a prosecutor, I’d see the vulnerable and victimized but instead of saying “I’ll pray for you” and sending them off… I’d actually be able to get them help or serve justice. I’d be able to DO something. Which finds us here. In my least favorite position… the one where I honestly contemplate… maybe I was wrong, and he was right. Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe the more I see the darkness in the world; it isn’t turning me darker (as I expected it might)… it is just hollowing me out. I hate it when he’s right. But he might be.